


Just Let Me In Your Arms

by ViolentSarcasm



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, I don't know if any of you expect anything else from me at this point but it's tentacles again., M/M, Tentaclces, it's tentacles again., schmoopy sappy romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 04:29:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentSarcasm/pseuds/ViolentSarcasm
Summary: Kravitz has been gone too long; Taako's had time to come up with something new.





	Just Let Me In Your Arms

You know you’ve been gone too long the moment you step through the rift into your living room, because your boyfriend is wrapping his arms around you from behind before it’s had time to close. His hands are warm even through the fabric of your suit, his breath almost unbearably hot on your neck. You lean back against him anyway, half on instinct, relaxing fractionally just to be here, but there’s something about the way he’s holding you that makes you think-

“Welcome home, babe,” he purrs, and, yep, you’ve definitely been gone long enough for him to get Ideas™. You twist in his arms, tipping your head to kiss him, and he returns it with gusto. Buries one hand in your hair and pulls you close with the other, warming you with a spell as he deepens the kiss. You’d be embarrassed at how you melt against him, at the fluttering little sigh that escapes you at the feeling of his lips on yours, but you’ve been gone almost a fortnight and honestly cannot be fucked to care how overeager you seem.

Pulling back, you laugh. “Did you miss me?” you ask, and he rolls his eyes and ducks forward to kiss you again, much more chaste; just a fond press of lips that is an answer in and of itself.

He steps back, looking you up and down, and then purses his lips. “You’re covered in necromancy goop,” he complains. “How am I supposed to seduce you when you’re  _ already  _ sticky?”

You glance down at yourself, your ruined jacket and ectoplasm-covered slacks, and grimace. Some of it wound up on Taako, too, from your greeting, although not enough that you can’t appreciate how he looks; he’s wearing a soft, simple dress that ends around his knees, hair a mess where it’s yanked mostly up in a bun on the back of his head; his illusion is down, too, and the tired fondness in his face as he looks at you makes you want nothing more than to kiss him again, but he’s right. You’re kind of gross right now.

“I’ve been thoroughly seduced anyhow, Taako,” you remind him, and he grins. “Unless you were planning to make me sticky and I’ve somehow rendered that plan impractical-”

His grin turns sharper, more predatory, and you stop. Raise your eyebrows. 

“About that,” he says, and you bite back a grin of your own. 

“I’m going to shower, and then you can run me through whatever nefarious plan has you smiling at me like that,” you tell him. His ears perk up in excitement and he bites his lip, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “—If you’d like to join me in the shower, you’re welcome,” you continue, feeling your lip twitch up despite your most valiant efforts, “but you’ll be volunteering to wash my hair. Those are my terms, for shower sharing.”

“You can just say you want a headrub, you weird dork,” he replies sardonically, even as he gets back in your space to take your hand, bumps your shoulders together.

“Okay. I want a headrub, you weird dork,” you say, completely giving up on not grinning, and he gasps indignantly.

“ _ Rude _ !”

You’re both laughing when you get to the bathroom, Taako activating the shower through his giggles with a wave of one hand. He tugs his dress off in one fluid motion, the movement knocking the band out of his hair as well. You’re distracted, for a moment, by the graceful curve of his back; the desire is there as always to kiss the scars littering his torso, but you shake your head and let your suit dissolve into shadow instead, let him wind your fingers together again and lead you under the spray. You hiss through your teeth at the initial blast of heat, but he distracts you with another kiss, and you’re used to it soon enough.

You stand together in silence for a long moment, enjoying the feeling of water on your skin and the touch of his hands on you as he reaquaints himself with your body, tracing nonsense patterns across your back and chest, laughing quietly when he does something that makes your breath catch. 

He does wash your hair for you, eventually. Conjures a stool and silently directs you, instructions written in his gentle nudges against your head or shoulders, and you do what he wants with no complaints. Why  _ would  _ you complain? Hell, with his nails dragging across your scalp you can barely think at all; you’ve sunk into a heady, comfortable fog and are partway to drifting off right there when he gently tugs at a lock of your hair and says, “so, hey.”

You make a vague noise of interest and he snorts, pressing a wet kiss to your freshly-rinsed hair. “Krav, honey, you look like you’re about to pass out, I can table this if you want-“

You straighten up a bit, turning to loop your arms around him and lean your head against his chest. It feels cool, for once, in comparison to the heat of the water, and the thud of his heart beneath your cheek is a comfort. 

“I’m fine, dear,” you say, “you’re just very good with your hands.”

“Damn right,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. 

“So what were you thinking?” you ask, and he tenses. 

“Welllll,” he says, tugging you up so you’re standing and shutting the water off. He grabs a couple of fluffy towels with mage hand as he continues. “So, listen, I was thinking. You know how once or twice I’ve, well. Tentacled your dick?”

You blink at him, pausing in drying off. That’s pretty run of the mill for you at this point, honestly. “Uh, sure,” you say, “I’m happy to-“

Taako shifts nervously, and you pause. “Not totally what I meant, babe, but that’s reassuring,” he says, then grins at you sheepishly. “I found a new spell. Or, well, modified an old one. The point is I managed to make a spell that will, y’know, fuck me. Also. At the same time.”

You blink. The words take a moment to register, but when they do they hit you like a fucking train; it must show on your face because Taako huffs a laugh and steps forward to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Oh, you’re into that idea, huh,” he murmurs, low, and you shiver. 

“Uh huh,” you manage, the mental image of him where you’ve been so many times, suspended and twitching, still taking up most of your higher functions. He tips his head up to kiss you, slow and deep, and you melt into him, follow his lead eagerly. Slender fingers encircle your wrist, and he steps back, tugging you gently into your room. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, the crackle of magic in here is unmistakable; clearly he set up wards to elongate the time he could cast this spell, probably prepared it as a ritual. You shiver again, imagining him sitting in here haloed in energy, creating something powerful and new for  _ you _ . He glances at you, a nervous little half-smile on his face, and you step forward to wrap your arms around him. He’s still so warm, so soft, and you love him; he laughs when you tuck your head between his head and his shoulder and sway like you’re dancing, but his hands grip you just as hard. 

“Dork,” he says, quietly. You smile and lean back a bit to look at his face. 

“ _ Your _ dork,” you point out, and he grins, tipping his head to you, conceding the point. 

You kiss him again, because you can, and because he’s warm and he’s beautiful and you love him; you tangle the fingers of your left hand with his right and kiss him deep and slow, creating a tiny moment that will last forever carved on the inner walls of you, graffiti on your heart in the best possible way written next to other moments, inconsequential but world-shaking; his hand over yours that first night at the Chug ‘n’ Squeeze, the way he laughed so hard he nearly choked on water on your third date, the open, shattered look on his face across the sapphire disk of Phandalin on the day the world didn’t end; all are carefully notched into you, saved for the moments you need them. 

He pulls back to murmur to you. “Wanna get this show on the road?”

You kiss him once more, then say, “absolutely.” He grins in that way of his, that by all objective metrics shouldn’t make your heart do flips, lopsided and imperfect as it is, and your breath catches at it. He guides you over to your bed and you sit where he puts you, obedient because you have no reason not to be. He kisses you one more time, then takes your hand and channels the spell. 

You see magic differently than a mortal world, see the way it tugs at the fabric of the world and shapes it, and the way Taako cast is strange and unique, a product of learning in a world not your own— truly you’d thought it was an anomaly, until you saw Barry and Lucretia and Davenport. Until you saw  _ Lup _ , the only one who truly matched him in his instinct-driven assault on tradition, the slapdash way he twists the universe around him to his whim. 

This spell, also, is alien; the way he generally uses it is ripped from a world you’ve never seen, learned from the notes of a long-dead scholar with a bit of a thing for monsters. Arcs of iridescent light form and coalesce into thick, deceptively graceful tendrils that are far stronger than they look. As they form they twist and shift, filling the space with a liquid sort of elegance and winding curiously up your ankles. 

All this is familiar, normal even, but this time they reach for Taako as well, slip around his legs and up, up to his chest and his arms at the same time as you; you’re both lifted, tenderly, gently, into the air. Taako flashes you a grin, his easy posture and cheerful expression belied by how he grips your hand as hard as he can, nervous. 

You’re still not really restrained, so you lift his hand and kiss his palm. He laughs, delighted, but cuts himself off with a tiny choked gasp when one of the tentacles winds around the base of his cock. At your urging, the tentacles let you press forward enough to kiss him, murmuring against his lips, “oh, how the tables have turned.”

He laughs, already breathless, and replies, “you’re up here too, babe, it’s only like a quarter turn. Like, eighty-five degrees at most.”

You don’t have an answer for that, so instead you kiss him again, let your eyes flutter shut and the hand not holding his be pulled above your head; don’t bother biting back the mewling gasp when a thick tentacle slides around you, pushing between your legs and up so you’re left rolling your hips against the meat of it while its tip curiously explores your chest. You can feel him shiver, his breath catching. 

There’s a soft, wet noise, and he makes a sound you’ve never heard before, a high whine muffled against your lips. He shifts, presses your foreheads together, panting, and his breath is hot on your face. It’s somehow the most intense thing you can feel, all you can focus on, even as a thin, slick tentacle slides around the thicker one and slowly fucks into you— his breath distracts you from the sensation, changes it, makes your skin burn in a way you couldn’t articulate if you tried. 

His breath goes short, hitching gasps one after another-he sounds wrecked and hungry and you have to pull away so you can  _ look _ at him, pushing against your own bonds to take in his. The movement rocks you back, onto the tentacle inside you, and the feeling of its texture moving combined with the sight of him is enough to have you shaking. He’s shuddering, moving in tremors that wrack his body as he instinctively pulls against the tendrils holding him; you see the muscles in his core work, trying to curl forward, but he’s kept in place; there are actually more tentacles around him than you, holding him tightly. As you lean back they tip back a little, pulling his legs apart in a lewd display so you can see precisely what they’re doing to him, what  _ this  _ is doing to him- two are corkscrewed around one another, fucking him mercilessly as his cock goes neglected. Precum beads and slides down his shaft as you watch, and you bite back a noise, rutting against the thick, textured tentacle between your own legs. It’s a delicious, not-enough slide against your clit, and you bite your lip, squeezing Taako’s hand. 

He opens his eyes for a second, half-smiling at you even with an open mouth, but they fall shut again a moment later as he honest-to-gods  _ whimpers,  _ a tiny desperate mewl accompanied by a viselike grip on your hand. The tremors have given way to tiny twitches, seemingly reflexive rather than intentional. It’s almost too much for you, the unshielded desperation in his movements, and when he whimpers again, louder, it’s absolutely more than you can take; you fall apart, too surprised to do more than gasp as you come.

The tentacles keep moving, because of course they do, because even if the focus is shifted Taako has never missed an opportunity to wring every possible moan from you, to use you until you’re overwhelmed and quaking and so happy you can’t think. 

The part of you that’s still detached takes a tiny bit of satisfaction in knowing that this is wrecking him more than you, that this time  _ he’s  _ the one mewling, taking shattered breaths and flexing his free hand to try and stay grounded. 

(Sure, you’re the one that’s come already, but he’s the one whimpering. You take victories where you find them.)

A tentacle prods at his lips and he opens them immediately, wide, takes it in his mouth hungrily, and-gods. You can see why he likes doing this to you so much; there’s something uniquely arousing about seeing the love of your life spread out in front of you, put on a wanton display and fucked from all angles; some singular pleasure to be derived from watching the way the movement of the tentacles in him rocks his whole body, one pressing him against the other. Unceasing, unforgiving. Slick escapes his mouth, rolling down his chin, a combination of the tentacle’s lubricant and Taako’s saliva that makes him look, somehow, even more debauched than the tentacles fucking intently into his ass do. 

After that thought you lose track for a while, because tentacles wind around your body and hold you almost too tight, pull you down to meet the one-ones, now, two or three, you’re not sure-that fill you up, writhing inside you until the edges of your vision go white, and it’s hard to philosophize when you’re coming for the third time in a row; for a long moment, all you know is that you love him, and that you’re full and happy and aflame with lust, held to Earth by his hand in yours. 

You come down slowly, listening to him make what have graduated from whines to full-out muffled wails and shuddering through aftershocks of your own; you manage to gasp out his name and it’s enough to get the tentacle to pull out of his mouth, enough to let you kiss him messily.  His lips are wet and slack and sweet and your touch tips him over, too, with a cut-off noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream. 

The tentacles slowly lower you to the nest of pillows you sleep on, carefully tuck you against each other — Taako immediately latches onto you, wraps shaking limbs around you with what meager strength is still in them, and you’re not much better — and fade, leaving you warm and sated and alone together. 

You’ve been about ready to pass out since before you even got home, so you’re already half-dozing by the time Taako comes back to himself to croak, “fuck.”

You nod sagely, agreeing, and he elbows you, or maybe just kind of squeezes you, but the intent is there. 

“...I love you,” he murmurs after a moment, stripped bare by exhaustion and afterglow, and you tighten your arms fractionally around him. 

“I love you too, Taako,” you say. 

“We’re gonna have to get up to get water.”

“Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Carly Rae Jepsen's _All That._ I hope none of you are surprised that I've written another tentacle oneshot.
> 
> As always, I'm on twitter @honeycorvid. this was written more or less for a friend who was talking about how we- and by we i mean me, I am more or less this fandom's Tentacle Dealer at this point, although there have been a few non-me-related tent fics here and there - don't usually also fuck taako. so. here we are.
> 
> just in case, krav is non-op trans in this, as he is in most of my stuff! if you worry that might upset you, I'd steer clear.


End file.
